


THE PLAN (or as I like to call it: Operation Mystrade)

by gaylock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea is the Best PA, BAMF Anthea, BAMF Greg, Eventual Johnlock, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft IS the British Government, POV Anthea, Pining Greg, Sherlock Being Sherlock, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-25 22:19:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6212365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylock/pseuds/gaylock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dear reader,</p><p>If you are reading this, it is because I was successful, and everything went according to The Plan.<br/>I want you to know that normally I don't play at being cupid, and it is in no way part of my day-job to get<br/>people to fall for each other. And no, it's not part of my night job either. Honestly, if it hadn't been for that<br/>blasted rain, I don't think I ever would have come up with such an amazing idea. (Yes it was amazing, No<br/>I'm not narcissistic, I swear.)</p><p>Now, I've written this while sitting in my girlfriends bedroom. I've included a few pages of my personal<br/>journal (No, Sally, you cannot read it!) to highlight a few of the larger points in this narrative.<br/>It's time for me to be getting to work. This country doesn't run itself, you know! Hopefully when I get to the<br/>office, it will be minus one Holmes, as I ordered him to take the morning off. (Yes, I'm talking to you, Mycroft!<br/>Get back in bed and STAY THERE or I'll tell Greg to handcuff you to the bed. Actually, that's not such bad idea...)</p><p>Anyways, this is it for now. I really must be going.</p><p> <br/>With lots of love,<br/>-Anthea</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. THE BEGINNING

It all started with **The Idea**. Yes, that is capitalised, and for a reason. You see, this wasn’t just any old idea, some run-of-the-mill thought. This was a _masterpiece_. If normal, non-capitalised ideas are the finger-paintings done by my seven-year-old niece, then this idea was Leonardo da Vinci’s The Mona Lisa. Van Gogh’s Starry Night. The finest sculpture in all of ancient Greece, natures sunset, the… well, I’m sure you get the gist of it. I tend to wax poetic when I’m overtaken with a bout of nostalgia.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yes, **The Idea**. Now that I’ve properly… ahem, explained… the significance of **The Idea** , it is time I explained what exactly The Idea _is._ Which may seem like an idiotic thing to do, seeing as it is quite obvious that The Idea is just that; an idea. Of what though, is the imperative question here, I believe. Now, I hope you’re sitting down somewhere comfortable, because this could take me a while.

The Idea, to be perfectly precise, was something that came to me on a warm, sunny July afternoon, while I was walking along the streets of California…Okay, no, you’ve got me. It was the streets of London, and it was anything but warm and sunny. As is often the case, the sky was a roiling mass of grey and grayer, clouds splitting open to allow the downpour the weather man had somehow failed to predict to fall upon the unsuspecting citizen’s heads. Not mine, thank goodness, as I was safely ensconced inside a black Government sanctioned vehicle, holding my trusty Blackberry in my hands. Because it was rush hour, the car was moving forwards at a pace a snail could outrun, which wasn’t putting my traveling companion in any better a mood.

            “Charles, if you don’t find a way through this infernal traffic, I will personally see to it that your next check gets lost in transition.” Mycroft Holmes’s scowl was something to be reckoned with, and had often times put fear into the hardest of hearts. Thankfully, those who had worked with Mycroft for a sufficient number of years (meaning anywhere 4+) had become used to his tactics and immune to his threats.

            “Mr. Holmes, with all due respect sir, that will not be possible.” The voice of Charles, the driver, floated through the grate in the glass partition which separated the compartments in the car, and I snorted. Mycroft of course glared at me, his left hand tapping restlessly against his left thigh. He was, remarkably, without his umbrella for once. Actually, that was the entire purpose of our journey; he had left his favourite umbrella at his brother’s flat, and we were on our way to retrieve it.

            “I will refrain from saying I told you so.” I said cheekily, ignoring the glare completely and curling my legs up under me as I glanced out of the tinted windows.

            “Anthea, now is not the time.” Mycroft Holmes growled lowly at me, and I smirked.

            “If it makes you feel any better, sir, it seems as if half of London listens to the same weather station as you, and got it wrong as well.”

            “Decidedly unhelpful, Anthea.”

I shrugged. “As you say. Just trying to help, sir.”

Mr. Holmes eyes me warily before sighing and shaking his head. “Despite this weather mishap, I am not actually stupid, you know.” His eyes show the slightest bit of amusement, and I cheer inwardly, doing a mental victory dance since it would be unseemly to do one in my current curled up position on the seat of the car, and I am nothing if not seemly.

            “Alright, so I’ve been found out; not trying to help.” I say, re-adjusting my position on the seat as we drove slowly (and I mean _slowly_ ) over a pot hole. “If you truly held a minor position in the Department of Transport, this could have been a quick journey. Oh, what cruel irony. But alas,” I said, affecting a sad, distraught face. “We are left to crawl along at a pace my dead grandmother could beat while limbless, in abominable weather that you, despite my sage advice, are not prepared for.” I dramatically flopped over onto the seat, resting my head in my arms and heaving. My fake sobs were truly a dramatic work of genius, if I do say so myself.

Through sobs and sighs and heaving breaths, I peeked one eye over my forearm and caught the smile on my employers’ face. Success! My mental cheer was louder this time, and the accompanying victory dance much more colourful.

            “Sage advice, Anthea?” He said, crossing his left leg over his right and resting his still restless left hand on top of his knee.

I nod slightly, turning my head to better look at him as I say, “Indeed.”

It was now his turn to snort, and it was an impressive snort at that. His ice blue eyes gazed out the window to his left, and he sighed slightly before nodding. Leaning back, Mycroft reached up a hand to tap lightly on the glass partition to get the driver’s attention.

            “Yes, Mr. Holmes?”

            “Drop me off here, please.” I raised my eyebrows at this; we were nowhere near Baker Street yet. We had at least another five blocks to go.

            “Are you sure, Mr. Holmes? I’m sure the traffic will clear up soon enough, and th—,”

Mycroft shook his head and tapped the glass again. “No, here please. I’ll at least get there before the century turns.” This was said with a wry twist of his lips, and I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

            “I… Very good, sir. Will Miss Boyette be accompanying you?”

This was a good question. I turned my head towards Mycroft and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, clearly saying, _“Are you going to drag me along?”._ He looked to be in thought, before he tilted his head a little to the right and raised an eyebrow back, as if to say, _“I don’t know, am I? Can I really get rid of you so easily?”._ I grin and sit up straight, shoving my Blackberry into my coat pocket.

            “Yes, Charles, I will be accompanying him. Wouldn’t want to miss all the fun.” I wink at Charles’s reflection in the rear view mirror and push open the door nearest to me, closing it with a thud as I step out into the pouring rain.


	2. THE PART THAT COMES AFTER THE BEGINNING BUT BEFORE THE MIDDLE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, just a quick note before I post the next installment;
> 
> Sorry for the delay in getting this to you all, but work has been hectic.   
> Mr. Holmes works me much too hard (If you're reading this, sir, I just want   
> you to know that i'll be requesting that vacation I mentioned to you soon).  
> Not to mention that having a girlfriend, while absolutely lovely, is also a time  
> consumer. No offense, Sally darling. 
> 
> Also, since I've had to hide my journal because not only did my wonderful girlfriend  
> try to read it (next time you do that, you can sleep on the couch) but so did a   
> certain someone who might just be the little brother of my employer. That's right,  
> I know you were snooping in my apartment, Sherlock. You're not very subtle,   
> you know. Also, I see that you couldn't guess the password to my laptop, which  
> I find hilarious, since it's literally sherlockholmesgetthefuckoffmylaptop.   
> Or it was, before I changed it. Anyways, I'll let you all get on to reading what you actually   
> came here for; the next chapter of my narrative.
> 
> Regards,  
> Anthea
> 
> Ps. There will be an end-note to explain some of the things in here. Don't get  
> mad at me until you read it, alright boss? Thanks.

          "This is by far the best idea you've ever had, sir." I say, wiping the rain from my eyes and taking another sloshing step forwards. "Honestly, I couldn't have picked a better time for a nice stroll about town." I step sideways to avoid a puddle, although it is a bit pointless at this point, considering my shoes are completely soaked through. My bloody expensive suede leather boots. Damn it, I loved these boots. 

          "Anthea, your theatrics are not helping." Mr. Holmes's terse reply came while I was stepping forwards, and I turned around with my eyebrows raised.

          "Au contraire, I find that they are doing quite well to lift my mood." I once again dodge around a puddle, slowing my pace to match that of my employer's. Although on a normal day he would most likely be far ahead of me, Mycroft seemed unsure of himself in the pouring rain, trying his best to avoid puddles so as not to ruin his no doubt incredibly expensive shoes. I shake my head, impressed as I compare the damage on my footwear to the somehow still pristine condition of Mycroft's. I turn away from our feet and stare ahead. We are still more than three blocks from our destination, and by the time we reach Baker Street, we will both be soaked to the bone.

          "Remind me why I thought this was a good idea?" I hear from beside me, and I glance over at Mycroft. I can't help but smile as I watch him trying to push his sopping hair off his face, with little success. Every time he gets his no longer perfectly gelled hair out of his eyes, it falls back down again. He is scowling grumpily and staring slightly cross eyed at his hair.

I cover my mouth so as not to let loose the giggle that I can feel trying to escape. Oh god, this is priceless. If I didn't think he would murder me and hide my body where no one would ever find it, I would risk taking a picture. Instead, I turn my face away.

          "I haven't the faintest. I do however know why I decided to join you." I smirk.

I hear a huff from beside me. "If you breath one word of this to anyone in the office, I will _not_ replace your very expensive suede boots."

I can't help myself; I laugh. "Oh no, I wouldn't dream of it sir."

Mr. Holmes nods. "Good."

Smirking, I can't help but add, "Once your brother see's you like this, I'll have no need." 

My boss stops walking. Like, he actually freezes for a moment. I turn to look at him. His eyes are wide and his mouth has fallen open slightly. With the sopping auburn curls draped over his forehead and the rain dripping down his nose, it's possibly the most comical thing I've ever seen. I don't get the chance to appreciate it however, since I'm too busy being worried about why Mycroft is completely silent and still, standing in the pouring rain in the middle of a London sidewalk.

          "Sir?" I ask tentatively, reaching a hand out slowly to wave in front of his face. "Are you still with me, sir?"

A low moan escapes his open mouth. "Oh, _god_." He blinks slowly before his eyes focus on me. " _Anthea_."

I stare at him, my brows furrowed. "Sir? What is it?" I ask. What could it be, did he see something? Someone? Are we in danger? I glance around, but can barely see anything but the rain around us. I turn back to him.

          " _Sherlock_." He chokes out, and the knuckles of his right hand are so white as he clenches his fist that I just know were he holding his beloved umbrella, the handle would be in danger of snapping.

I nod, trying to get him to continue. "Yes. Sherlock, your brother." He just looks at me, and I sigh. "What about him, exactly? I need you to be more specific, sir, if you expect me to follow." I put my hand on my hip and wait patiently. I know what you're thinking; _Mycroft Holmes_ , being vague? _Mycroft Holmes_ being -what, somewhat irrational, standing still in the pouring rain? Mycroft Holmes, _the_ Mycroft Holmes, not making any sense? No, never! But you'd be wrong. It actually happens more often then you'd think. I've learned through my years as his PA that the only thing to do is wait it out. It might take him a while, but eventually he'll get around to explaining.

He takes a few deep breaths, the shocked and slightly distressed look still on his face before he says, "Anthea. We are going to Baker Street. Where Sherlock is. My brother." Mycroft glances down at himself and shudders. "He will see me. Like this." He stares at me, his eyes wide.

Oh. Oh! I take a small step back and glance over him completely, taking in the completely sopping suit and the messed up hair. I nod. "Yes, well, you certainly aren't your best right now, but I'm sure it'll be fine." I say, trying to be soothing. I'm afraid I rather fail though, since I can feel a smile making my lips twitch.

          "Oh, _god_. This is a _disaster_ of the largest proportions." Mycroft hurries forwards suddenly, quicker than he was before, no longer caring about his shoes (or my guess is he most likely forgot about them). I have to rush to keep up, his legs much longer than mine, and me wearing heels to boot.

Ha, to boot. Heels to boot. I am in fact, wearing heeled boots. The pun is strong with this one.

No? Fine. I suppose you are one of those people who think puns to be the lowest form of wit. Well, let me tell you something; you're wrong. 

Anyways, back to the narrative-

 

          "Sir, slow down!" I raise my voice, but it doesn't stop him in the slightest. I can't help but sigh as I run through the wet streets after him; moving this fast is causing puddles to splash muddy water up over my legs. Ew, gross. I make a face and continue on, but I can feel the water running down my legs and seeping into the tops of my boots now, and it's disgusting. Ugh.

When I finally catch up with him, he is standing outside of 221b Baker Street, just staring at the door. I roll my eyes. _Honestly, I'm surrounded by drama queens_.

          "The door isn't going to _bite_ you." I say, stepping up beside him and opening the door myself. He makes a small noise behind me as we step into the dark front hall. We both stand there for a moment, just looking at each other as we drip onto the hallway carpet. His eyes are boring into mine with such intent that I cannot help but read the message in them.

_Sherlock is up there, Anthea._

_I know, sir. But there's not much I can do about that, is there?_

_Anthea! He can't see me like this! Look at me, I'm- I'm-_

I snort, and raise an eyebrow.  _Wet? Sopping? Dripping? Soaking?_

He scowls and glances away for a moment.  _This is not amusing. And no, I was going to say undignified._

I roll my eyes and turn towards the stairs. "Should have brought your umbrella, shouldn't you?" I mutter, and clomp up the stair, not bothering to be quiet like I normally would. After all, there's no missing the puddles of water we both seem to trail everywhere, is there? I wait at the top right outside Sherlock and John's flat, and watch as Mycroft sighs and sloshes up the steps, taking the time to try and school his features into his usual impenetrable mask. Unfortunately, the curls dripping in front of his eyes undermine his authoritative look somewhat, but I don't tell him that. He breathes in through his nose quickly, before nodding at me and knocking on the door. I can hear the quiet murmur of voices stop on the other side of the wooden barrier, before the door swings open and my boss's brother is there, a wide grin on his face as he takes in our appearance. 

Or more accurately, his brother's appearance. My lips can't help but twitch slightly at the thought; I can understand why Mycroft was so distressed, but seriously, this is definitely going to be hilarious.

As we step inside, Sherlock let's out a laughs and says, "Hello, brother mine. _Lovely_ weather we're having, isn't it?" 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, hello again. This one is for you, sir-
> 
> 1\. I didn't technically say anything about how you looked. I wrote it.   
> Complete difference, and next time you should be more specific. 
> 
> 2\. Yes, you will notice my restraint on the photograph front, since I   
> didn't feel like being either murdered or deported. You are welcome. 
> 
> 3\. I still expect those new boots this week. If they come out of my  
> paycheck, I will be very peeved with you.
> 
> See you at work tomorrow,  
> Anthea.


End file.
